


can't, must, maybe

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic-Users, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: Arthur’s first memory is of his mother’s body.He’s in a hallway, long slanted dark hallway, menacing hallway about to eat him up, hallway full of terrors, hallway of dark grey speckled wallpaper that was the last thing his mother ever saw, hallway where she drew her last breath before Arthur could find her.





	can't, must, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, wow, wow, it's been awhile. I just finished assistant directing a show this week, which is my big excuse for not writing since my semester started. I had rehearsals for three and a half hours every night, so fic was not the first thing on my mind when I had an ounce of spare time.
> 
> So I made myself write today, and wow this is weird and kind of fucked up, and I'm not sure what it's trying to do stylistically, but I kind of like it. No warnings because I'm not sure how graphic graphic is when it comes to violence and didn't want anyone jumping down my throat. It's just descriptions of Ygraine's body, mainly, but I figured better be on the safe side.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it, hope it's not too weird!

Arthur’s first memory is of his mother’s body.

He’s in a hallway, long slanted dark hallway, menacing hallway about to eat him up, hallway full of terrors, hallway of dark grey speckled wallpaper that was the last thing his mother ever saw, hallway where she drew her last breath before Arthur could find her.

He was three. He was three when he found his mother’s body, her soft blonde hair thick with dried blood, lacerations across her stomach, her pale blue dress only blue up around the color. It matched her eyes, still half-open, in the middle of a blink.

Arthur sank down in the hallway, afraid to touch anywhere but her cheek. He brushes his hand across her cheek and lips and begs for her to wake up, for the blood to be fake, for her to smile and laugh at him like she always did.

Soon he realized that she would never wake up. That she was gone forever and he’d never hear her voice, her laugh, her smile, ever again. He remembers crying – sobbing – screaming – but no one would come. No one was coming. No one was there. No one at all. No one, no one, no one.

 _Somebody,_ Arthur cried out, over and over again. _Somebody –_

* * *

 

He remembers more after that – his father, the police station, his father, the courtroom, his father, his father, his father, and then the man who murdered his mother but he can’t think about that so all he can think of his father, his father, his father.

His father shut up in his office, his father snapping down at him to shut up, his father getting wrinkles, his father never smiling again, his father’s tirades about the evils of magic when he looked half-mad himself, his father seeing his mother whenever he looked at Arthur, his father wishing Cenred McDermott had decided to kill Arthur instead.

Arthur adds that next bit years later, when he knows the full story. Knows about how it was his father’s fault. Knows that Cenred McDermott was going to kill someone in that house to get back at Arthur, and remembers Cenred on the stand when he was six years old after giving testimony about finding his own mother’s body, remembers Cenred’s plea deal, remembers him explaining –

_It was ordered by Nimueh Lake. She heads up the Magical Bureau in Camelot, and Uther hadn’t paid back his loans. Never would’ve been elected without those loans. Nimueh had given him all the chances she was willing to. She told me to go to his house and kill either his wife or son and spare the other one in case Uther still didn’t get the message. Didn’t like the idea of killing a kid myself, so when his wife answered the door, I decided to gut her instead. Not proud of it, but that’s what you had to do when you were under the thumb of Nimueh Lake. She had dirt on everyone. Uther more than most._

Arthur heard the words when he was six, but didn’t realize what they meant until years later when Morgana told him when they were thirteen and he came to live with her and her mother because his father was deemed unfit to care for him anymore and Uther hadn’t fought to keep him.

Morgana explained why and Arthur was sick with grief all over again.

* * *

 

Those are the images lodged in Arthur’s head: a bloodied mother and a greying, half-mad father. Those are all he has left of his parents. They’re both ghosts to him even if Uther is still alive and somewhere in a psychiatric hospital in Wales and his mother is buried in the cemetery an hour away from Morgana and Vivienne’s house.  They’re both ghosts and they’re there, they’re always there, making him remember, always remember.

Morgana tries to understand, but she doesn’t, not really. Uther was her father too but she never had to live with him, and Ygraine wasn’t her mother. Her mother was alive and there and present and loved her, and Arthur’s mother was a body in the hallway, a ghost on his shoulder, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 _Go away, then,_ Morgana tells him frankly, arching her eyebrow, when Arthur tells her about the ghosts. At least he can tell her. At least he can say it out loud. _Go somewhere else. Somewhere different. See if they follow you. Go practice magic – that’ll piss Father off more than anything. Maybe you can at least get his ghost to bugger off._

He takes her advice and goes to Barcelona when he’s nineteen, but can’t bring himself to study anything more than the history of magic with Geoffrey Monmouth. Geoffrey knows Nimueh Lake – knew Nimueh Lake, Nimueh killed herself in prison when Arthur was nine – and he tells Arthur what he needs to know.

 _Magic has a much deeper history than the Bureau_ , Geoffrey slides book after musty book toward Arthur as he sits at the end of a long row of desks. Geoffrey accepts six students every year and Arthur’s one of them, and he knows he should be grateful but somehow hearing that his father’s wrong and magic wasn’t at fault for his mother’s murder just makes him feel sicker. Sick with grief not for his mother, but his father as he wastes away screaming to anyone who’ll listen about eradicating magic from the world.

_Magic is the fabric of reality – it was never meant to be bureaucratized, not like Nimueh made it. It was never made to be an institution to live with. It was made to string us together, make us feel the world around us, the hearts of the rest of the world – it’s a balancing act. It’s beautiful. It’s nature, not society, not the Bureau, not any of that. It just is, Arthur. It’s a balance of creation and destruction, of finely tuned strings connecting us all. That’s what you need to understand._

Geoffrey understands a little. Geoffrey understands what Nimueh Lake got wrong, what Cenred McDermott got wrong, the theories of what it would take for someone to get it right, but he doesn’t know anyone who has. And he especially doesn’t understand the ghosts.

* * *

 

Gaius, five years later in Dublin, Gaius understands the ghosts.

 _Horrible case, your father,_ Gaius says over a pint in a pub somewhere just off from Trinity College. He runs his own magical study there. He did a case study about his father before he died last spring, about what it takes to spin someone out over the edge like that. _Raving by the end – wanted to kill everyone he’d ever met. Had to be incapacitated at all hours of the day. In his sleep, he would talk to your mother like she was still there. Like he was doing all of this for her. I believe if we would’ve let him out, he would’ve gone to the penitentiary and personally murdered Cenred McDermott, and anyone else he ever met with magic along the way._

Arthur wonders if his father ever mentioned him, ever spared him a thought, ever articulated wanting to kill Arthur too. If Cenred would’ve seen Arthur first, his mother would still be alive.

Arthur wonders if his father ever regretted not fighting to keep him.

 _No room for regret in that old head of his,_ Gaius sighs. _Nothing but anger. Anger and fear. Least the Bureau disbanded. They were on their way to weaponized magic on a full scale. World never would’ve survived. But the MLU is on its way to doing good work, real work, for people who are victims of magic and magical victims. Real equality – recognizing the harm done on both sides. I should put you in touch there – you could get a job in their law and history department, smart bloke like you._

Arthur had gone to law school after studying with Geoffrey – all of those hours spent in a courtroom when he was a child sealed his fate. He couldn’t possibly do anything else than help make sure that anyone who hurt people like his mother face the consequences.

He wonders if she’d be proud of him.

He wonders if her ghost on his shoulder is real. Since his father died, he’s been wondering the same about his other shoulder, but that feels wrong. His father never stuck around in his life, certainly he wouldn’t spend his death the same way.

His mother, though. His mother might still be watching him.

* * *

 

“Welcome to the MLC, I’m Merlin, I head up the Accidents and Injuries Department, I hear you’re a friend of Gaius’ which is excellent – I studied with him, actually, though I hear you studied with Monmouth, I hear that’s excellent, though a few more dusty texts than actual spell work, which was what made my decision between the two – oh, I’m sorry, what was your name again? HR told me but I’m absolutely shit at names.”

Arthur’s in the lobby of the MLC and can’t help but stare at the gangly, grinning, mile-a-minute talking, utterly odd representative they sent to show him to his new office and wonder how he was such a high-ranking official in the firm. He’s probably about Arthur’s age, but his grin makes him look more youthful, and so do the ears that stick out from under his hair.

“Nice to meet you,” Arthur says politely, stiffly, and reaches out to shake his hand. “I’m Arthur du Bois. I’m the new assistant chair of Magical History and Law.”

“Excellent, we have a ton of new cases every week, representing everyone from little old ladies who can’t get proper housing because of their magic to murder charges against old Bureau members still kicking up a spiel for magical superiority,” Merlin says and Arthur’s stomach twists. “We obviously represent the victims – that’s what we do here, make sure the victims have a place to speak regardless of magical ability. Do you have any, by the way? History and Law doesn’t necessitate it, so I thought I’d ask. We don’t discriminate – obviously. Sorry if I’m being invasive, I tend to run my mouth off at any opportunity.”

“No,” Arthur says. He’s always been relieved that he hasn’t shown a propensity for magic. It would be harder to forgive himself for his mother’s death if he did. He isn’t sure why, but it is. “I’ve just studied it at length. Do you…?”

“Necessity for Injuries and Accidents,” Merlin says with a wave of his hand. They’re on the elevator now; the whole building is underground, the lobby the highest floor. Leftover from the days that the Bureau controlled all of the magic in the country with an iron fist. “I’ve got twenty-nine of the highest skill sorcerers in Britain on my team – we’re the emergency responders to magical emergencies, since you know the police don’t like to hear anything about magic.”

Arthur knows all too well how few police were willing to deal with his mother’s murder. Only the Bureau was, and the Bureau was the people who ordered it. It took Uther’s last year of sanity for them to get representation. It’s why Arthur accepted Gaius’ offer to work here. He just wants to make sure the victims have their say.

“I know,” he says instead, and Merlin smiles at him. Arthur thinks he might understand.

They ride the lift down in the quiet, though the hustling atmosphere of a busy office greets Arthur as Merlin leads him from the lift to his private office. It’s large, spacious, and decidedly less musty than his cubicle when he studied with Monmouth.

“Some of us are getting a drink later tonight,” Merlin says brightly as Arthur sets his briefcase down on his new desk. “You should join us. Get you into the company morale spirit.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but he sounds genuine. Everything about him sounds genuine.Arthur can’t help but ask “Why do you work here, Merlin?”

Merlin’s smile becomes decidedly more bittersweet. “Because no one deserves to be hurt. Magic or no magic, terrible things happen to good people. And because magic’s gotten a bad reputation these past few years. It’s been made into something it’s not – magic is the string that holds the world in place. We need to…make up for what the Bureau did to magic. And make sure magic can never be used like that again. Why did you want to work here?”

He’s zeroed on in Arthur again, his manic energy back, eyes bright as if he really does care about what Arthur’s going to say next.

“Because the victims deserve better than they’ve gotten,” Arthur’s throat is hard, “and no one should ever have to feel pain like that. Someone is more likely to be murdered with magic than without it – but by the same token, a person with magic is more likely to be murdered than someone without it. Two sides of the same coin. Two sides that need fixing.”

Merlin cocks his head at him, contemplating him, and his bright smile slowly returns. “Seriously, Arthur. Come have a drink ‘round seven at the Rising Sun. I think you’re really going to like it here.”

Arthur isn’t sure about that, but there seems to be a weight lifted off of his chest as unpacks his bag and takes a good, long look at his office.

This, he thinks, might relieve the pressure of his ghosts. This, he thinks, might be the something he’s been searching for, the something that would make sense of what happened and somehow make it worth it.

* * *

 

“I’m here because all the greatest do-gooders in the city work for the MLC and I need myself a sugar momma – or daddy – to provide for me while doing good work to aid the people of Britain,” Gwaine says with a swig of his pint. Arthur isn’t sure how seriously he should take him; the others are all rolling their eyes or laughing at him, so he figures not very. “MLC folks make good money and have hearts of gold, and that’s what I need. That’s what I _require_.”

“He’s talking shit,” Merlin mutters to Arthur amongst the din of the Rising Sun. “He’s got a fiancé at home. He just likes to sound dramatic.”

“Is the fiancé a sugar momma or daddy with a heart of gold?” Arthur remarks dryly and Merlin snorts.

“Excuse you, are you poking holes in my story?” Gwaine points his pint in Merlin’s direction with a flourish. Gwaine works in HR and is apparently very dramatic. Five others from the company are sitting around a round table at the pub with them. There’s Lancelot from Management, Gwen and Freya from Health and Safety, Leon and Mordred from outreach and education, and then Arthur.

“Hardly a story,” Merlin challenges with a raised eyebrow. “Stories have to have a plot, don’t they? Yours is just your undying quest to get laid. Is Percival not satisfying you?”

“Percival is _plenty_ satisfactory,” Gwaine retorts. “Have you seen his –?”

He’s cut off by Leon putting a hand over his mouth, which he tries to bite at. Everyone is cracking up, which leads Arthur to turn to Merlin. Merlin just shakes his head.

“Percival’s even taller than Leon and three times as wide,” Merlin explains sardonically, and Arthur chuckles.

  
“Why are we still talking about me and not the man of mystery over there?” Gwaine points at Arthur. “The gossip mill about you just keeps on spinning, my friend. I hear you’ve –”

“Stop repeating things Elena’s told you,” Freya cuts Gwaine off with a sharp elbow to the gut. “She makes things up all the time just to get a rise out of you.”

“Still, we don’t know anything about him!” Gwaine protests.

“I studied with Monmouth in Barcelona before coming to law school here,” Arthur says carefully. “Strictly interested in magical law and theory. Don’t really have the propensity for spell work, but thought my talents would be best suited to MLC.”

“I can’t do spells for shit,” Gwaine says with a roll of his eyes. “Neither can Leon and Gwen. Lance is alright on a good day, Freya and Mordred are mid-level as of now, but our mate Merlin here –”

“Shut it, Gwaine,” Merlin complains, his cheeks turning pink. Arthur can’t help be a bit relieved that he’s not the only person who can’t cast a spell to save his life. He wonders how powerful Merlin is. Cenred McDermott was only slightly above average, power-wise, but still killed his mother within minutes. Nimueh Lake, though, she had been top of the line.

“He just loves to sing your praises,” Gwen says in a sing-songy voice herself. “C’mon, folks, I’ve got to be up early tomorrow for surprise inspections. Freya and I are driving up north at the crack of dawn. Night, all.”

Everyone slowly filters away, even Gwaine, but Arthur keeps sitting there, not sure if he wants to beg off quite yet because Merlin hasn’t left yet either.

They end up being the last two sitting there, nursing their own pints quieting until Merlin breaks the silence, a few minutes after Gwaine finally stumbled out. “I did a little digging on you, after we met.”

Arthur’s hands go lax. “Oh?”

“Why’d you change your last name?” Merlin asks softly, but it isn’t prying. It’s a genuine curiosity. Arthur’s never met someone so genuine.

“My father didn’t want me anymore,” Arthur says, an odd taste in his mouth at admitting something out loud that he’d only ever thought in my head. “I could’ve taken my sister’s last name, but I didn’t want to. I wanted my mother’s.”

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin said, his hand tentative on Arthur’s forearm. Arthur didn’t mind the touch. “I wouldn’t have brought it up except – I just wanted to say – how brave I think you are. For working here, for studying magic at all. I can’t imagine – that is to say, I think you’re incredible for even trying, Arthur.”

His words resonate in Arthur’s mind, and he can’t taste the next sip of his drink. “What’s your story, then?” he asks hoarsely. “Surely – with all of your supposed power – you’ve got to have one.”

Merlin’s mouth becomes set in a line, and his shoulder twitches. “Not nearly as…meaningful as yours, I’m afraid.”

“Go on,” Arthur really does want to know.

“I grew up in Ireland when magic was still illegal there,” Merlin says after a long swig of his drink. “My father had magic, but I never knew him. He – he was from England. He was a Bureau member.”

Arthur’s tongue suddenly tastes like ash as Merlin’s hand latches onto Arthur’s own, his eyes boring a hole in Arthur’s skull, wide and meaningful.

“I want you to know that you’re safe here,” Merlin says, every word shaking. “That I’m not like that. My father – I never knew him. He died not long after I was born, before – before your mother died. But that’s why I’m here. Making up for his mistakes. I don’t know if I ever can, but I’m trying Arthur, I promise I’m trying. Sins of the father, and all that.”

Arthur places a hand over Merlin’s before he can stop himself. “I know a lot about sins of the father.”

Merlin smiles shakily at him. “I’m sorry. I’m just – I’m just trying. It’s all I can do.”

“It’s all I can do, too,” Arthur whispers, not sure if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s making him say this. “I can never make up for my father but at least I can – at least I can try to honor my mother.”

Merlin clasps his hand. “You’re doing it already.”

* * *

 

A year at MLC seems easier than any of the years that dragged on before it when Arthur felt stagnant, meaningless, purposeless, haunted. But there is something about getting to wake up in the morning and know that he is going to make a tangible difference in someone’s life that brings vigor to everything Arthur does.

There is something about having a system around him equally dedicated to what he’s wanted to do for all of his life, ever since he found his mother in that hallway, ever since he bloodied his hands trying to resuscitate her, ever since his father left him all alone, ever since he gave testimony in court at six years old to put the people who murdered his mother away forever.

There’s something about having friends, friends who Arthur spends his one-year-anniversary of working at MLC toasting with at the Rising Sun, something about hearing them all say _to Arthur!_ , something about Merlin walking him home afterwards, both of them just a little tipsy, Arthur just a little happier than he’s ever been.

“Did you ever find it?” Merlin asks when they’re a block away from Arthur’s flat, unusually sober after their previous conversation of who was better with directions. “What you were looking for here?”

Arthur’s sobered up now too as he cocks his head at Merlin. “I always thought I was looking for….for _something._ But I think –”

He remembers being three years old, remembers the dark, bleak hallway, remembers his mother’s splayed body, remembers screaming _somebody, somebody –_

“I think I was looking for somebody,” Arthur finishes, not sure what will happen next. Merlin does what Merlin always does. Merlin smiles at him.

* * *

 

Arthur’s always had nightmares about his mother’s death.

It’s not as if the nightmares stop, afterwards. It’s not that the ghosts go away and his shoulders are free of their weight. It’s not that the weight isn’t something he’ll always carry.

It’s that when he wakes up from the nightmares, delirious and unsure of where he is, calling out for his _somebody, somebody,_ that his hands hit Merlin’s chest and he’s bundled up into his warmth, that his hands aren’t bloody and brushing his mother’s cheek but instead holding Merlin’s crumpled t-shirt.

He’s ruined more than one t-shirt that way, but Merlin doesn’t mind.

Merlin just says “Hey, hey, I’m here. It’s alright. I’m here,” and holds Arthur tightly.

 _Here_ is all that Arthur’s ever needed.


End file.
